


Orobouros

by Edoraslass



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, more gen than shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoraslass/pseuds/Edoraslass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do Arthur and James Cobb have in common? Everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orobouros

**Author's Note:**

> Canon character death, psychosexual weirdness but all consensual, a wanton lack of linearity, possible headaches
> 
> For a prompt by bloodbelieve on the kinkmeme
> 
> Moving everything from LJ; I got no complaints there about lack of warnings, but feel free to mention any I missed

~*~

_James is not-even-two years old when his mother dies, and not-even-two years is very young to comprehend that his Maman has gone away, and that she is never going to come back._

_He understands that Grandpère and Grandmère are very very upset. He understands why Phillipa kicks the priest in the leg and runs off to hide under the buffet table, even if he could never articulate that understanding. He doesn’t understand why Uncle Arthur doesn’t talk to anyone – Uncle Arthur always has time to talk to him and Phillipa - and he doesn’t understand where his daddy has gone._

~*~

Arthur’s drunk beyond the telling of it; drunk enough to make no protest when Eames slides Arthur’s shirt off. He doesn’t know why Eames is here, or why Eames is so silent. He doesn’t actually know where “here” is.

Arthur’s feet are wet, and there’s a splash of blood on his French cuff. He doesn’t care what happened, not with Mal in the ground.

Eames touches Arthur’s back lightly, saying curiously, “This birthmark is very like James’.”

Arthur almost chuckles instead of sobbing. “Aren’t I _Uncle_ Arthur, Eames?”

But he’s brother to neither Mal nor Dom, and Eames knows it.

~*~

Arthur is perched on a balcony, therefore he must be in a hotel. Someone is tugging insistently at his waistband. “No, Arthur. No. _No._ ”

The voice is raw with fear; he turns, and is surprised to see Eames. Eames never panics, not even in Cairo.

“Would you do that to the children? They adore Uncle Arthur.” The panic glimmers in the back of Eames’ eyes. “Would you do that to _Dom_ , you fucking asshole?”

Arthur gives a ghastly bray of laughter. “I’m not going to jump,” he says. “I can’t, because I didn’t.”

He lets Eames drag him back inside.

~*~

Arthur doesn’t remember the days after Mal’s funeral clearly (“Mal”, because Arthur is a world-class compartmentalizer ). He does remember slugging Eames in the jaw, telling him to go fuck himself.

Eames disappears immediately after that with nary a word. Arthur has a sinking feeling that something is nagging inside Eames’ far-too-sharp-for-comfort brain; if anyone can come near the truth, it’ll be that nosy fucker. He wishes he could remember why he punched Eames hard enough to split his own knuckles open. 

He can’t give it much consideration, though. He has his hands full trying to keep Cobb from self-destructing.

~*~

_Not even two is very young to comprehend that Maman is never coming back. Sometimes James cries for her, wants to know where she’s gone, and always gets the same confusing answer. Uncle Arthur visits sometimes and he says it’s all right for him and Phillipa to cry. Sometimes Uncle Arthur looks like he might cry. But if he does, James doesn’t know it._

_Not even two becomes two, then three, and James stops crying for Maman. He doesn’t remember her, not in memories. Only in pictures, in dreams where she holds him, singing about a white hen in barn._

~*~

“Don’t follow me,” Cobb had ordered. “You’re more than capable of working without me. I won’t ruin your life, too.”

Arthur ignored him, obviously. He wasn’t about to abandon Dom. 

The first time Mal shows up on a job, Arthur is so stunned that he can’t even defend himself before she bashes his head in with a hubcap. He hasn’t vomited upon waking from the dream since he was eighteen; he can’t stop shaking. 

When he asks Dom for an explanation, Dom only says, “It won’t happen again.” 

Arthur knows it’s a lie, even if Dom doesn’t yet realize it.

~*~

It’s a dangerous line of work for someone like Arthur (not that there is anyone like Arthur). Things leak through, when the subconscious is opened up to others, and Arthur can’t afford to have any of his secrets leaked. His defenses are exquisitely impenetrable, all vital parts of his memory cordoned off, everything about himself before he met the Cobbs repressed with an almost frightening strength of determination.

Many have admired how orderly Arthur’s subconscious is. Others have commented on how brutal his projections are. Cobb has said how relaxing he finds Arthur’s control of his mind, but he would.

~*~

Mal returns, erratically, but often enough that Arthur must get used to it. Afterwards, he always tries to persuade Cobb to talk, to help him find ways to at least keep her under control while they’re working, but to no avail. Cobb can’t or won’t set his considerable will to silencing his dead wife.

“You’re no goddamn good as an architect so long as she’s fucking you up!” Arthur, at his wit’s end, is almost brutal. “You have to stop building, or she’s going to get us killed!”

Thankfully, Cobb sees reason, and Arthur starts looking for a new architect.

~*~

He’s at a hotel bar in Vladivostok when he receives a text from Eames. He hasn’t heard from Eames close to a year.

Two words: -Project Tamatebako

The die confirms this as reality. Fucking Christ, how did Eames … scratch that, he doesn’t want to know.

Arthur retreats to his room, locks the door, wedges a chair under the doorknob, then spends half the night wondering what the fuck he’ll do. He’s wanted so badly to have someone to confide in. Even if he can’t tell everything, he wants to be able to tell someone _something_. 

Eventually, he replies: -Yes

~*~

Arthur and Dom take jobs, work alone or with other, transient team members. Cobb’s intensity frightens off some people; Arthur frightens off those he deems unworthy. He won’t put them at risk because of some amateur.

Of course Dom is changed, but working seems to at least distract him. Of course he’s obsessed with clearing his name; Arthur spends precious free time researching laws and loopholes and statutes until his head aches. He’s not entirely sure why; he knows better than anyone that Cobb will come home. But it’s better than sitting on his hands, waiting for Dom to crack.

~*~

Months later, another text.

-It sounds mad

This time, Arthur doesn’t hesitate. 

-I’m aware

-You might have said

-Said what, exactly?

-Anything, Arthur

Abruptly Arthur remembers why he hit Eames: that bloody birthmark. Eames was sure it meant Arthur was James’ father. That Mal cheated on Dom with Arthur. Arthur had punched him, and drunkenly babbled enough to set Eames searching for evidence that Arthur was or was not asshole enough to fuck his best friend’s wife.

-I did, if you recall. You called me a heartless motherfucker. And now you believe me?

-More things in heaven and earth, Horatio.

~*~

Just a week later:

-Am I your security blanket, then, Arthur?

Arthur doesn’t know what to say to that, other than

-Would that bother you?

An hour later:

\- I believe so. It’s a bit…creepy, isn’t it?

-My whole goddamn life is a bit creepy.

-I can only imagine.

This strikes Arthur as flippant.

-No, Eames. You fucking well can’t.

Half an hour passes.

-Perhaps it would be best if we don’t talk for a while.

-And how is that different?

Arthur shouldn’t have lashed out; Eames is only trying to understand him, which is, after all, what he does.

~*~

Only years of restraint keep Arthur’s jaw from hitting the floor when Saito contacts them for a demonstration of their expertise. He’d always wondered how Saito came to know his father, but he hadn’t guessed that “He worked on a project for me” meant “I hired him to break into someone’s mind.”

Saito never gives away that he knows Arthur, not by implication or expression, not that Arthur honestly thought he would. Saito is inscrutable as it pleases him to be, and as familiar with Saito as Arthur is, even Arthur is hard-put to tell what the man is thinking.

~*~

Of course Cobb wants to hire Eames for something like this, and Arthur can’t give Dom a real, solid reason why they should use someone else.

Eames is his regular, gaudy self, which gives Arthur hope that he will tactfully stick to discussion regarding only the job, or variations of mocking the stick up Arthur’s ass. And mostly, that’s what happens. Eames loves to show off for new team members, and there are three shiny new people to impress, including Saito.

Once or twice, however, out of the corner of his eye, Arthur catches Eames regarding him far too seriously.

~*~

Eames appears in the warehouse late one night; only Arthur is there.

“No,” Arthur states flatly. “We’re not having this conversation until this job is finished.”

“Answer one question,” Eames says, as if he’ll stop with one. His voice is strangely apprehensive. “Why tell me?”

Arthur has a million answers, but decides on, “Because you always felt safe.” 

Eames is visibly taken aback, which compels Arthur to add quietly, “And Uncle Arthur always trusted you.”

Eames opens his mouth to speak, but not a sound emerges. After a long, tense silence, he leaves, and Arthur doesn’t know what that signifies.

~*~

Arthur tries to talk Saito out of participating, late one night in a sprawling Parisian apartment.

“I should like to see for myself that my investment in you is well-founded,” Saito says, almost smiling. 

It stings, to be referred to as “an investment”, but of course Arthur remembers what Saito doesn’t yet know. Twenty-five years from now, Saito will consider him almost a son, but right now, Arthur is simply the culmination of almost seventy years of painstaking research. Arthur had assumed he was used to this kind of cognitive dissonance by now. 

What a stupid, stupid thing to think.

~*~

Arthur tries not to be distracted by Saito’s presence, but he fucks up royally by missing that Fischer’s prepared for invasion. He hasn’t made a mistake like that in years.

Only when they’re back on the first level does Arthur find out Saito’s in limbo, and Cobb has gone to retrieve him. 

Afterwards, he goes to Saito’s hotel to apologize, but Saito merely says “If the end is good, all is good,” and Arthur is politely escorted from the suite. 

He wants to be worried about Saito’s state of mind, but he’s only an investment, and doesn’t have the right.

~*~

Eames approaches Arthur outside the airport. “How about a drink?” he offers. “In celebration a job spectacularly well-done?”

“You mean you want to get me liquored up and force me to talk?” Arthur shoots back. “I’m not in the mood, Mr. Eames.”

“When will you be in the mood, Arthur?” Eames is a little testy. 

“Why don’t you talk to Saito instead?” Arthur suggests.

Eames blinks. “Saito? Whatever for?”

Arthur hands him a business card. “That’s his private number. He’s expecting your call.”

Saito agreed to answer Eames’ questions. It’ll get Eames off Arthur’s back until he’s ready to talk.

~*~

_Daddy promises that he won’t ever stay gone so long again. Sometimes he goes away to work with Uncle Arthur and other people, but he calls every day and he always comes back quick as he can. James is happy._

_Uncle Arthur visits more now. He brings James and Phillipa presents: a thing with beads called an abacus, chemistry sets and lots of books, a dinosaur in pieces that Daddy helps put together. Uncle Arthur knows everything, and never talks to James like he’s a baby._

_He never stays very long, though he sends postcards and e-mails. James likes e-mail._

~*~

They have their pick of jobs; Arthur hasn’t had this much fun working since Mal died. Cobb is more relaxed, naturally; Ariadne brings a fresh energy to each production; Yusuf enjoys the novelty of working with people who aren’t lotus-eaters.

Eames comes and goes. When he’s there, he never refers to Project Tamatebako, but there’s something nebulous in his demeanor which tells Arthur he’s aware of it at all times. This should be nerve-wracking; instead, Arthur finds it soothing. He suspects that Eames doesn’t quite believe completely, which isn’t surprising. But he’s willing to consider it, and that’s what matters.

~*~

He visits Cobb’s home more often; perhaps he shouldn’t, but Arthur can’t help himself and it would look strange if he didn’t. He sends the children postcards and presents: an abacus, chemistry sets, countless books.

He almost doesn’t buy the abacus; seeing it on a shelf in Hong Kong unnerves him so badly that Eames has to spend the next two days trying to keep Arthur from falling apart. 

He does buy it, though. He has to, because he remembers playing with it endlessly, loving the click of the beads. But he makes Eames box it up and mail it.

~*~

“How do you stand it?” The question is subdued, which Arthur chalks up to a rather large quantity of rather good bourbon. It’s also apropos of absolutely nothing, as Arthur has just offered to find a drunken six-year-old to help Eames dress himself.

“Your appalling sartorial decisions?” Arthur asks, in hopes of derailing the conversation. “Sometimes I buy clothing at Wal-Mart and burn them to appease the fashion gods.”

“Arthur.” Eames’ voice is reproachful, faintly insulted, and compellingly insistent.

Arthur looks away from Eames, across the restaurant at a dreadful faux-Kandinsky print. “It’s not as if I have another choice.”

~*~

Arthur’s not been keeping track of time. It’s a test run; it’s only a small adjustment to the compound. They’ve done this a hundred times before.

It’s only when he glances at his iPhone to check tomorrow’s schedule when he realizes, and launches himself at Dom’s already-convulsing body. 

Anaphylactic shock, the doctors will say. Nothing Dom’s ever encountered before. No way anyone could have known. No way to have stopped it.

Arthur has to be kept from beating the new chemist, Tarasovna, into a pulp. Of all people, Arthur should have known. He could have stopped it. Should have _tried_.

~*~

_James is seven when his daddy breaks his promise. He promised to never be gone so long again, but he goes off to Rome to work with Uncle Arthur and Mr. Eames, and he doesn’t come back._

_“Daddy got allergic,” Phillipa tells him when they’re huddled together in her bed the night before the funeral. “He drank something and he got allergic.”_

_James knows what allergic is; Steven at school can’t have peanut butter crackers because he’s allergic, it makes him itchy and his face swells up. But James doesn’t know how being itchy could have made his father die._

~*~

_James clutches Grandpère’s hand at the funeral. He wanted to stand by Uncle Arthur, but Uncle Arthur won’t talk to anyone. He only stares at the casket, and it scares James._

_He and Phillipa will go live with Grandpère and Grandmère. He wants to live with Uncle Arthur, but Mr. Eames says Uncle Arthur is ill, and needs to go away until he’s not so sad any more. He promises that Uncle Arthur will write and send presents._

_James clings to Phillipa afterwards, when everyone is eating and talking about Daddy. He doesn’t remember who the tall Japanese man is._

~*~

Arthur doesn’t remember Dom’s funeral; he’s busy trying not to remember his father’s, and not succeeding. The surreality makes him queasy: _there_ he is at seven, holding tightly to his grandfather’s hand and crying, _here_ he is at thirty-one, staring at a casket, castigating himself for being so goddamn _complacent_.

He hopes Eames truly believes him now. If not, he’ll surely have Arthur locked up tomorrow; tonight Arthur won’t be able to shut himself up with liquor. He’s going to talk.

His totem tells him this is real. He has to believe it, or lose his hard-won grip on sanity.

~*~

_James fights packing all his toys and clothes into boxes. He doesn’t want to leave his house; he’s never lived anywhere else. He throws himself on the floor; kicks and screams and bites Philippa when she tries to hug him._

_He wants his daddy. He wants his Uncle Arthur. He wants to stay in his small snug bedroom; he doesn’t understand why his grandparents won’t move into this house and stay._

_He falls asleep in the middle of the floor, and doesn’t wake when Grandpère carries him to bed. He dreams of Maman crying, and doesn’t know who she is._

~*~

Arthur wakes on a private jet to he-doesn’t-know-where. He wasn’t asked his opinion on the destination. Eames wouldn’t tell him and he doesn’t particularly care, at any rate.

“I don’t know what happens after this,” Arthur realizes suddenly.

Eames glances over at him. “How do you mean?’

“I mean I don’t know what happened to him after my father’s funeral.”

Eames frowns. “You never saw him again? That seems – peculiar.”

“He visited,” Arthur muses. “But I don’t know what he did when he wasn’t visiting.”

Eames stares out the window. He looks exhausted. “I suppose you’re about to find out.”

~*~

They’ve been in Cyprus a month, and Arthur’s grief over Cobb’s death is still as fresh as it was at the funeral. Eames is patient, and doesn’t overly pressure him to talk.

In the middle of the night, Arthur is awakened by a startling realization. When Eames stumbles into the kitchen in the morning, Arthur blurts out, “I’m relieved.”

“Pardon?” Eames is still muzzy with sleep.

“I’m sorry that he’s gone,” Arthur explains, voice shaking. “But it’s…it’s a _relief_. It’s so much less pressure.”

He can’t tell if Eames understands or not. Arthur’s not sure that he wants him to.

~*~

Arthur always visits on the children’s birthdays. Sometimes Eames accompanies him, sometimes he’s on his own. Sometimes it’s easy and comfortable, sometimes it’s a trip down the rabbit hole, and he has to cut the visit short.

He stops visiting when James is eleven. James is starting to look too familiar; people will ask questions. He continues to keep in touch, though. He can’t abandon Dom’s children.

Eames stops visiting when James is twelve. He comes back from France looking deeply shaken, immediately leaves again for parts unknown, and Arthur knows that if Eames wasn’t convinced before, he is now.

~*~

_Phillipa develops an eating disorder, James is thrown out of four exclusive schools before he’s eleven. He fights, steals, lies, even blackmails; their psychiatrist says that both siblings have “control and abandonment issues”. She doesn’t tell them that, of course – Phillipa hacks into her computer so they can read their files._

_Their benefactor suggests that James be sent to an elite military school; surprisingly, he likes it. Not the tedious hierarchy; he likes the structure, the precision, the strict-if-not-challenging curriculum. He likes the discipline._

_He’s there three years before being expelled for breaking into the Provost’s office to steal a PASIV._

~*~

What shall I do with you, James?

_James, whatever are we going to do with you?_

I don’t know, sir. 

_Why should I care? Like it’s my decision anyway._

Have you any marketable skills? Any fields you should like to consider as a career? We must keep you busy while tests are being run.

_I love you, James, but I’m an old man. I don’t know how to help you – perhaps if your grandmother was still with us… Your father’s friend, Mr. Saito, has made a suggestion, and I believe it might be just the thing._

I don’t know, sir, if my skills are marketable. They were – _will_ be marketable. Maybe…are you conducting PASIV research? Is that underway yet? I do know that device extremely well; perhaps I could be of help.

_Is that why he’s been dumping money on us all these years? Because he’s a friend of our father’s?_

Indeed? I would not have guessed – the PASIV. I believe, James, that I have just the niche for you.

_He worked with your father occasionally, and what you refer to as “dumping money” is Saito concerning himself with the welfare of an old friend’s children. Don’t be ungracious, James._

~*~

_Japan is very different. James is a bit overwhelmed, but voraciously curious, as always. He’s theoretically living under Saito’s roof, but they rarely see one another. Saito is quite busy, and James himself is immersed in classes. He has private tutors for everything: language lessons, physics, a variety of martial-arts, even weapons training._

_He doesn’t know why he’s taught these last two, but he doesn’t especially care. He’s fourteen; for the first time, he feels actively challenged, unfettered, and James is more than willing to give the required weekly progress reports to Saito, excited to share all his new knowledge._

~*~

_It’s difficult to make friends when one is being privately tutored, but Saito makes certain that James meets other teenagers – the children of other corporate magnates, diplomats, of actors and scientists. He goes to clubs, concerts, parties, dates the daughter of a Persian record producer, loses his virginity to the son of a Kenyan ambassador._

_James doesn’t realize it, but as Saito’s ward, peculiarly self-possessed, intelligent, and impeccable even when in jeans and a t-shirt, he’s a somewhat romantic figure to his friends. It also doesn’t hurt that he has a reputation for being wild, and that he does know._

~*~

_When James is fifteen, his grandfather dies. Neither Uncle Arthur nor Eames come to the funeral, although they send a lavish flower arrangement, and James can’t help but be a little hurt by that. He’s gathered, though, that they’re not particularly welcome in France._

_Phillipa comes to live in Osaka; for that, James is grateful. E-mail and Skype aren’t the same of having your sister in the same house as you; he’s missed her steadying presence._

_But come autumn, she’s bound for MIT to study biochemistry, and James is starting to grow dangerously bored with his studies and his friends._

~*~

Some days Arthur hates opening any e-mail or text from Saito. Sometimes, the messages are regarding actual jobs; sometimes, however, they’re regarding James. What classes he should be taught, where he should spend the summer, how much leeway the boy should be given.

One day Arthur snaps and says, “Anything you do will be right, because you already did it,” and hangs up on Saito. Eames literally smacks the back of his head, which sometimes Arthur needs, then spends an hour on the phone repairing the damage, and Saito doesn’t consult Arthur about James again. Fortunately, Eames is very persuasive.

~*~

_For James’ sixteenth birthday, Saito gives him an out-of-date, disabled PASIV, and insanely complicated research documents regarding its usage. James is startled to see the name “Cobb” all over the reports, and for nearly a week, he doesn’t leave his room, obsessively poring over each page._

_Of course he’s heard of dream-sharing; who hasn’t? But he’d no idea that his stodgy grandfather created the technology, that his parents were so deeply involved in the development. And of course he wonders if his parents were only interested in the academic application; wonders exactly what kind of work they were involved in._

~*~

_Over the next year, James becomes as much of an expert on the PASIV as he can. He stalks internet message boards, exchanges flurries of e-mails with Phillipa, researches every urban legend and doesn’t stop to wonder why Saito allows and even enables this certainly-inappropriate interest._

_He does now wonder about his father’s “work colleagues”. He tries to snake information out of Uncle Arthur and Eames; Uncle Arthur won’t answer those e-mails, and Eames is more likely to send a thousand-word reply about food in Mumbai._

_Naturally, that only confirms James’ gleeful suspicion that his father ran an extraction team._

~*~

They work, sometimes, but not non-stop. Eames goes to Warsaw; Arthur goes to Bucharest, they both go to São Paulo. They work with strangers, past colleagues, Ariadne as frequently as time allows, Yusuf when the spirit and his pocketbook move him.

It _is_ less pressure now. Arthur isn’t trying to keep up with Cobb; he isn’t trying to keep every bit of himself on lockdown at all times to keep from giving anything away. He keeps in touch with the children, doesn’t look at pictures James sends, and enjoys what he’s doing with his life. It’s easier than he’d expected.

~*~

_Phillipa has a summer internship at one of Saito’s companies; James, against all odds, has managed to repair his ancient PASIV. The conclusion is foregone._

_It’s the most fucking incredible thing James has ever experienced. Although he wakes up retching from being stabbed by one of Phillipa’s projections, the adrenaline rush is so intense that James can barely form coherent words._

_Saito is furious at them for experimenting without supervision. He finds out because Phillipa tells him. She’s worried for her brother. She’s read a lot about Limbo, she’s afraid James is self-destructing, and nothing James says convinces her otherwise._

~*~

_Phillipa won’t talk to him; Saito tells James he’s reckless and foolish, takes away the PASIV, and threateningly refuses to hear more on the subject._

_James is frustrated to distraction. He can’t do that just once; he doesn’t understand how Phillipa can. He’s had lenient run of one of Saito’s physics labs since he arrived in Osaka, so he turns to the scientists who’ve served as his instructors for help. Surely they’ve engaged in dream-sharing._

_Dr. Yamada laughs in his face. “James, don’t be ridiculous. Of course I can not help you. I would rather not have my life destroyed.”_

~*~

_Of course Dr. Yamada tells Saito, which translates into James being effectively and swiftly grounded. He’s not allowed out of the house without Phillipa or a Saito-authorized escort. Saito even has his phone and internet access restricted, and James can’t hack around either._

_He is ordered to focus more on his physics studies; he’s been accepted at CalTech and mustn’t embarrass Saito by being anything less than perfect._

_He arrives at the lab one day for a session with Dr. Acker when he notices a new sign on a door that he’s always thought housed a storage room._

_“Project Tamatebako.”_

~*~

_James can’t find out anything about Project Tamatebako. That’s curious enough to take his mind off the PASIV, for now. Usually he can get some sort of vague response out of the scientests, but not this time. Another person might take that as a warning sign, but James has always been perhaps too curious for his own good, and he’s always had a felonious streak a mile wide._

_It takes three months, but he finds a way into that little room. Inside is a great deal of peculiar equipment, and he can’t immediately see the usage of any of it._

~*~

_He starts sneaking into the room as often as possible. Phillipa thinks he’s concentrating on his studies, and he lets her._

_James doesn’t wonder how he broke into a high security lab so easily; he’s busy trying to figure out what the equipment is for. He doesn’t actually think he’ll figure it out on his own, but it’s an intriguing puzzle._

_James is standing inside the circle of equipment, poking buttons in untried sequences, writing down each failed attempt, when shockingly, there’s the hum of machinery, a blinding flash, and James finds himself staring at a group of slack-jawed scientests._

~*~

Arthur’s phone beeps that a new text has arrived; it’s from Saito. He’s been waiting for a specific message; he couldn’t remember the exact date.

-He’s gone.

Eames finds him sitting in kitchen, staring off into space. “I take it lift-off has been achieved?”

Arthur startles so violently he nearly falls off the chair. “So I’m told,” he replies after he’s caught his breath.

Eames leans against the wall, quiet for a moment. “So now what?”

“Now,” Arthur says with a weary sigh, “I would like to go see my sister.”

Eames smiles, and doesn’t ask what they’ll tell her.

~*~

_James is disoriented and frightened and disbelieving and the interrogations don’t help. He can’t tell them anything, can’t tell them how he appeared out of thin air in a lab that doesn’t technically exist. He’s questioned endlessly by men and women he knows who are suddenly twenty-five years younger, and Saito doesn’t know him._

 _Mostly they seem to believe him; Project Tamatebako has been underway since 1943 and they were always convinced of their eventual success. James, on the other hand, can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he’s fucking_ time-travelled. _That he hasn’t even been born yet._

~*~

_There are endless batteries of tests til James flat-out balks at being a lab-rat and throws a chair at Dr. Yamada. Saito grants a meeting, and the outcome is this: James will allow the tests, and he’ll be allowed to assist another team on their PASIV research._

_It helps, as does being allowed to read the history of Project Tamatebako. If it were just academic information, he would find it fascinating._

_When he…shifted, he had a loaded red die in his pocket. He’d started carrying a totem after reading dream-sharing research. He doesn’t know if that’s fortuitious or skin-crawlingly coincidental._

~*~

_Eleven months, and apparently they can’t come up with any more tests. To James’ relief, Saito has pulled strings and is sending him to an American college, to be involved in the newly-emerging field of dream-sharing._

_He’ll be expected to attend classes like a normal student, but he’ll still be under Saito’s watchful eye, and will be required to report on the research. Otherwise, he’ll be more-or-less his own man. He’ll have a generous salary, until Saito decides otherwise._

_James is apprehensive, but excited. He’ll be at the forefront of the dream-sharing field, learning under the leaders in the field._

~*~

_When asked, James lies and says he’s not related to Dominic or Mallorie Cobb. He says he became interested in their work while doing geneology research._

_“Of course you can’t stay James Cobb,” Dr. Acker tells him. “We’ve created a very thorough background under the name Arthur Groves.”_

_“Arthur?” James is thrown for a loop. “Why Arthur?”_

_“It’s my father’s name,” she reveals proudly. “He’d be thrilled to know his research helped make this project a success.”_

_James would argue, but it would be an insult to her father to demand another name. And he can’t risk insulting these people._

~*~

_He’s not prepared. How could he be?_

_He’d thought he had no memories of his mother, but when Mallorie Cobb smiles at him and says, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Arthur,” James comes within a hair’s breadth of bursting into tears at the lovely French lilt to her voice._

_He’d always thought of his father as a huge man, but those are a seven-year-old’s memories, and Dominic Cobb not as big as James was expecting. He’s big enough, though, to make James instantly vow to measure up._

_He’ll worry about the name thing once Uncle Arthur shows up._

~*~

_To his surprise, James finds that it’s distressingly easy to not think of the Cobbs as his parents. His memories of his mother are non-existent; his memories of his father are dim, and bear no resemblance to the Dominic Cobb with whom he works so closely. He’s seeing a side of them no child would ever see, and every day, it becomes easier to just think of them as Dom and Mallorie._

_He’s still determined to make them proud, however, even if they don’t and can’t ever know who he is. He still has to live up to their legacy._

~*~

_James thinks about trying to change the future – his past, rather – just to see if he can; who wouldn’t? But the most obvious problem with making the attempt is that he is no position to even try to change anything major; he’s just a lowly college student._

_Naturally he’d want to prevent the deaths of his parents, and given the opportunity, he will do his dead-level best. But he doesn’t really know how either one of them died, so he wouldn’t really know what he should prevent. He’ll keep an eye out, though, steer them clear of possibly fatal situations._

~*~

_He’s not supposed to know anything about the workings of the PASIV, but he catches himself any number of times on the verge of complaining about the fidgety workings of the MV-235A model. His MV-346C was superior, but he can hardly say that._

_He feels like a fraud when Cobb praises his intuitive grasp of the device, but he soaks up such praise like water after a long drought. James has always responded well to compliments from those he admires, and he strives to keep and further Cobb’s good opinion, even when Mal chides him for pushing himself too hard._

~*~

_At first, James is basically a glorified intern, but gradually, he’s allowed to take on a more active role. “You’ve got too good a head for this work to take dictation,” Cobb declares. “You strike me as a young man who needs a challenge. Have you actually dream-shared before?”_

_“Once,” James admits with an internal pang. “It didn’t go well.”_

_Cobb and Mal exchange amused glances. “Amateurs,” Mal says with a dismissive wave. “Foolish, Arthur, to experiment with those who don’t understand the basic technology.”_

_James just nods, throat constricting painfully, and wonders what Phillipa’s been told about his disappearance._

~*~

_He wasn’t prepared for this, either. There is no way on earth to prepare for seeing his mother gleefully and viciously shoot what look like people in the head. James keeps reminding himself they’re just projections, but when Mal is splattered with blood and laughing as projections converge on her, it’s all he can do to keep from allowing his own projections to fight the others away from her._

_“She’s just showing off,” Cobb says, voice as solid and grounding as his hand on James’ shoulder. “She’s trying to unnerve you.”_

_“It’s working,” James replies unsteadily, and there’s the kick._

~*~

_James is constantly envious of Dom’s expertise at building dream-worlds, and frustrated at his own inability to come close to Cobb’s skill. His knowledge of the process is vast, but largely theoretical, and Cobb has been doing this much longer, but it still rankles._

_“You need to free your imagination, Arthur!” Mal tells him one night, but that’s the last thing James can do. He can’t free his imagination and accidentally use his childhood bedroom or his grandfather’s study as set-dressing. He is, in fact, strenuously training his imagination to stay where the hell it’s put. He doesn’t need it._

~*~

_James learns. He watches and learns the tricks of dream-sharing, of walking in other people’s subconscious, of constructing a meticulous-if-not-overly-imaginative dream-setting._

_He watches the Cobbs, and learns what he never knew – that his parents were brilliant, a little reckless, and deeply in love. They touch one another with casual tenderness, each lights up when the other walks in the room, and they can seem alone together when surrounded by people._

_It makes him ache. Sometimes it helps to know that his parents cared so much for each other. Sometimes it makes him feel like the loneliest person on the planet._

~*~

_James sends monthly reports on the progress of their research, and on his own physical and mental state. It feels like a betrayal, but Saito is ridiculously powerful, and James can’t think of a way to get around it without risking everything._

_He does leave out small, but key bits of intelligence. Saito’s team is nowhere nearly advanced as the Cobbs, and they’ll be so busy trying to deconstruct and apply all the other information that they won’t notice._

_He’s pleased that the psychiatrist thinks he’s adapting surprisingly well. All his hard work is paying off. He can do this._

~*~

_James has been waiting for it, and is privately vindicated when the Cobbs start quietly moving away from academia and into highly-illegal area of freelance dream information acquisition. When Cobb approaches him with the notion, he merely arches an eyebrow and replies, “Where do we start?”, Cobb hands him a scanty bio on the mark, and James sets about expanding it._

_He wonders when Uncle Arthur will show up. He has no idea when or how his parents met Uncle Arthur, but James knows they were old friends by the time he was born, so it’s soon, any day now._

~*~

_James, predictably, adores being on the wrong side of dream-sharing. Cut free of red tape’s restrictions, they’re able to build things they’d never considered, able to spend hours creating new techniques that wouldn’t have been allowed in a proper, academic setting. They’re making their own rules now._

_The moral implications of dream-thievery don’t bother James excessively; he’s always had a very flexible moral compass, and mostly it’s industrial espionage, which James can’t think of as anything but capitalism in action. He certainly can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing, nor any other team he’d rather be working with._

~*~

_“I’ve got someone for you to meet,” Mal says one day when James arrives at their rented offices. She’s always the first there._

_When James was twelve, he saw Eames on his cellphone, leaning against a countertop, laughing affectionately at the person on the other end. As it was at that moment that James began to consider seriously that yes, boys were more interesting than girls, it’s no wonder words fail him when he’s introduced to a twenty-five-years-younger Eames, and he has to act like an insufferable jackass to keep his dignity._

_James doesn’t remember that as Eames’ last visit._

~*~

_Eames is weirdly comforting, and James isn’t sure what to do with that. If Uncle Arthur was the original source of all information and someone to aspire to be, Eames was the playful ne’er-do-well who was never quite as intimidating to a child as one might expect. James remembers how Eames would let them eat too many sweets and then grin when their father berated him for it._

_James doesn’t have the deep, visceral attachment to Eames that he does to the Cobbs, or to Uncle Arthur, but there’s still attachment. He should perhaps be alarmed that there’s also attraction._

~*~

_They’re celebrating a successful, complicated job in Istanbul -not Constantinople, as Eames insists on singing every ten goddamn minutes. James is trying to be disapproving, but in fact thinks it’s hilariously stupid. It’s like being stoned._

_He was left breathless at the ease with which Eames changes himself into other people, and he’s fairly certain Eames noticed that attention, just like Eames has probably noticed how pointedly James has been ignoring all attempts at flirtation._

_Mal and Dom leave, giddy with success, and it’s much harder to ignore flirtation when no-one else is around, and you don’t really want to._

~*~

_James knows he should refuse, when Eames strokes his wrist and invites him to his hotel room. He should, he really really should._

_But Eames is weirdly comforting, Eames is undeniably attractive, and James can’t discount the fact that he feels more at ease around Eames than he does anyone else in this time-period. And the man’s mouth is ridiculous, honestly, both the shape of it and what comes out of it._

_He doesn’t refuse, and falls asleep wet from the shower, more relaxed than he’s been in years, a weirdly comforting and safe arm draped haphazardly over his waist._

~*~

_“Mal’s not feeling well,” Cobb tells James one morning. He’s wearing a truly goofy smile; James wonders if he’s drunk, which seems statistically unlikely._

_“I hope it’s not serious.” James tries to remember if anything’s been going around._

_“We’re going to be parents!” He beams like a schoolgirl, laughing at James’ pole-axed expression. “And you’re going to be Uncle Arthur!”_

_James feels like he’s drowning; he gropes for his totem, this has to be a nightmare._

_It never occurred to him that Uncle Arthur wasn’t going to show up. It never occurred to him that Uncle Arthur was already here._

~*~

_James does what he’s never done, and uses the jet Saito assured him was at his disposal, if needs be. He arrives in Osaka stupendously drunk, fighting off a nervous breakdown._

 _He stays there for three months. He can only be grateful that he’d had the foresight_ to tell the Cobbs that he owed an unnamed benefactor his loyalty, and might have to leave unexpectedly, if not in the middle of a job.

He considers staying in Japan, but Dr.Yamada gently points out that he can’t. James remembers his Uncle Arthur, and James won’t be born for another two years.

~*~

When he returns, he apologizes and spins a tale of his benefactor’s dire illness, to excuse both his abrupt departure, and his sober, almost grim demeanor on his return.

He and Cobb and Eames go back to work on a quick by-the-numbers job, and at the moment, Eames isn’t so comforting. Eames is somewhat symbolic of all of the memories Arthur is mercilessly trying to suppress. Because James remembers Uncle Arthur and Eames; with this new perspective, Arthur realizes what James remembers is Uncle-Arthur-and-Eames. He’s still attracted to Eames, but he hates feeling as if his future is already written.

~*~

Hating that feeling doesn’t stand much chance at keeping Arthur from sleeping with Eames when it’s offered, however. There’s no denying that James always saw Eames as a constant in his life, a source of protectiveness, and that’s a memory too deep-seated to be completely hidden away.

Truthfully, he doesn’t try very hard. Despite their constant sniping at one another, they do respect each other professionally, the sex is consistently fabulous, and Arthur likes the feeling of safety he has when with Eames. _Needs_ that feeling, not to put to fine a point on it. Or maybe just wants it.

~*~

Arthur is becoming used to being Arthur. Arthur Groves has a very different life story than James Cobb, and while Arthur Groves’ life story is a fabrication, so are the life stories of most of the people in this business. They’re all forgers, to some extent, creating new identities, by necessity or whim; why should he be any different?

Perversely, Arthur wishes he could tell Eames. He’d like to see the admiration on Eames’ face at being presented with such a convoluted, successful forge. He also suspects that Eames might be the one person who would believe his unbelievable story.

~*~

Eames tells Arthur that he won’t be at dinner tonight.

“I can change the reservation time,” Arthur says, attention still on a bio of Ms. LaRosa, “if that’s the problem.”

Eames sighs, and looks tired. “The problem, Arthur, is that if what I wanted was blowjobs from emotionally unavailable twats with exquisite taste in shoes, I could find that anywhere.”

Arthur frowns, confused. “What does that mean?”

Eames rubs the bridge of his nose, says, “Exactly my point”, and leaves.

Arthur still doesn’t understand, but he’s not worried. He knows that Eames comes back, eventually.

Except that he doesn’t.

~*~

For all that Arthur is growing comfortable in his new skin, he’s knocked sideways when Dominic Cobb places his new daughter in Arthur’s arms. Obviously James has no memories of Phillipa as an infant, and Arthur can’t really connect this tiny baby to his sister, but it’s somewhat earth-shaking.

Mal laughs at his expression. “She won’t break, Arthur, no need to look so terrified.”

He summons up a weak smile. “I don’t have a lot of experience with children.”

Dom gives his patented squint/snort. “No, really? You hide it so well.”

Arthur starts preparing himself for when James is born.

~*~

Arthur finds himself mildly obsessed with Phillipa; fortunately, the Cobbs think everyone should be ridiculously enamored of their daughter. He likes to see her tiny nose crinkle when she yawns, likes to hold her while she’s sleeping, and, to everyone’s amusement, Arthur turns out to be the person who can regularly soothe Phillipa when she fusses.

One day Arthur hears Mal singing a lullaby about a white hen in a barn, and he has to leave immediately before he falls apart. He’s compartmentalized James away all to hell, but the ambush of small, sensory recollections always threaten to undo him.

~*~

“Arthur,” Mal says, not unsympathetically. “Stop being so stubborn and apologize.”

Arthur looks up from his laptop, frowning. “Apologize?”

Mal raises her eyebrows. “Really, Arthur. Why do you suppose Eames hasn’t worked with us in so long?”

Arthur hadn’t thought about it. James remembers Uncle-Arthur-and-Eames, therefore Eames has to come back into Arthur’s life. 

Unless - _can_ he change the future/past? Has he already changed it, by waiting, utterly passively, for Eames to drift back in? Of all the things Arthur would want to change, Eames’ inclusion in Uncle-Arthur-and-Eames isn’t one of them. 

He hopes he hasn’t irrevocably fucked up.

~*~

Cobb is stricter about the jobs they take now; he has a family, and refuses to even contemplate putting that at risk. Arthur’s work has never been anything approaching shoddy, but now, at Cobb’s insistence, he pushes himself harder than ever to make certain every detail is perfection, that he knows every mark inside out before they agree to take a job.

Arthur never lets himself think that all his precision and meticulousness won’t change anything. He never lets himself think about how all this ends. He’s become an expert at lying to himself; there’s no reason to stop now.

~*~

“Hello, yes, I’m almost there, darli -..”

“Eames.”

There’s a somehow startled silence. They haven’t spoken in months. “Arthur?”

Arthur takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For being an emotionally unavailable twat.”

Silence again, then, “Did Mal tell you to call?”

Arthur flushes. “No,” he replies, not-quite-truthfully, “but she’s better at…. people than I am.”

“Inelegantly yet accurately put.” Arthur fancies he can hear the smirk in Eames’ voice. “So?”

“So,” Arthur repeats uncertainly. “I – don’t really know what comes next.”

“You really are terrible at people,” Eames’ chuckle is almost resigned. “But very good at information, blowjobs, and shoes.”

~*~

Arthur makes absolutely certain that he isn’t present for James’ birth. He, of course, knows the exact day, and is sitting on the balcony of his Osaka apartment when he gets the call. He congratulates Dom, makes arrangements to have flowers sent to Mal and Phillipa, then gets very very drunk. Luckily Dom’s not expecting him to come back; he’s in the midst of researching the head of a robotics company for a prospective job, which is in fact entirely fictional.

Arthur will regretfully report back that it’s a dead lead. He just needed an excuse to be far away.

~*~

James is even smaller than Phillipa was, and more active. He constantly waves his arms, kicks his legs, and Arthur can’t help being fascinated by every movement. It’s narcissistic, arguably morbid, but Arthur can’t stop trying to see himself in James’ chubby face. He remembers that blond hair darkening at puberty, knows that, nine years from now, James’ adorably tiny left arm will be broken by a fall from a second-story window.

It’s disconcerting enough that Arthur finds he’s avoiding holding or touching James; he berates himself, and sets his will on treating James exactly the same as Phillipa.

~*~

It doesn’t take so much effort – James has the indistinct, rounded look that babies have at first, and after a month or so, Arthur has banished from his mind the knowledge of who James will be. It’s too difficult to connect the dots, there’s no point to it, and therefore, Arthur doesn’t even try to see the picture.

He’s surprised by how he can enjoy being around small children. He even finds himself wishing that he could see them more often, but of course he can only visit when they aren’t working. So Arthur must settle for the occasional visit.

~*~

Something is wrong with Mal.

Arthur would assume it’s post-partum depression, even though James is sixteen months old, except that a worried, uncharacteristically guilty Cobb confided the truth of it: they had been exploring Limbo, and Mal isn’t adjusting well to being awake. Arthur hides his shock, and offers suggestions to help her reacclimate, but deep down, he’s desperately, viscerally afraid. He never really knew what caused his mother’s death.

She’s distracted, flighty, depressed, aggressive at the slightest provocation. Cobb stops working. Arthur is left alone, grasping at any diversion to keep himself from admitting what he knows is coming.

~*~

He should be able to stop this. What’s the point in technology like time-travel if you can’t _use_ it to change things, to _fix_ things?

Arthur does what Arthur does best: investigates. He spends days combing through psychological journals and books on delusion, pores over reports from the earliest days of dream-sharing studies, haunts the internet chasing down the vaguest scrap of information that might lead to a first-hand report of getting used to life after “years” spent in Limbo.

Cobb accepts all Arthur’s research gratefully, with increasing desperation. He’s started being unwilling to leave the children alone with Mal.

~*~

Arthur’s been able to go days, weeks, months without thinking of these two people as his parents, and now, it’s a weight pressing on his chest every second, awake or asleep. He’s dreaming naturally; what’s more telling, he isn’t able to control the dream. It simply unfolds in that disjointed way natural dreams tend to do, and he’s swept along, unable to affect his surroundings.

Every night he wakes in a cold sweat, gasping. Sometimes he gives in and calls Eames, sometimes he lays in bed, wracking his brain til dawn for a way to bring Mal back to reality.

~*~

He doesn’t let himself remember the date his mother – _Mal, call her Mal_ – died. If he remembers that date, it’s failing them and himself. If he remembers the date, it means he can’t change it. He has to keep trying.

He doesn’t go anywhere for too long, though. He’s started dreading any call from Cobb.

He’s at a bookshop on the Rue de la Bûcherie when his phone rings. “Arthur?” Dom’s voice is nearly unrecognizable with grief and fear. “It’s Mal.”

Arthur slumps against the wall, closes his eyes. In the background, James is crying, asking where his Maman is.


End file.
